


and here you come, with a shield for a heart

by foldingcranes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge (Supernatural), Drunk Sex, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes
Summary: When the bedroom door opens, Dean perks up immediately, trying his best to appear less nervous and more inviting, but he immediately goes flustered at the sight of a rumpled Castiel, tight pants and unlaced shirt, messy dark hair that looks silky to the touch.“Hi,” is the ridiculous, strangled noise that comes out of Dean’s clumsy, good-for-nothing mouth. “I’ve been waiting for you.”“Um. Right,” Castiel shuffles awkwardly in front of him. “I came to say good night.”Wait. What?“Good night?”(In which Dean Winchester, Commoner Extraordinary, marries a beautiful prince.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 183
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	and here you come, with a shield for a heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've gone full AU with a fic and I'm hoping this makes any sort of sense (this is, also, the most tropey thing I've ever written, HAHA).
> 
> Especial thanks to my friend stuffy_jj, who has the patience of a SAINT and always does an excellent job beta reading my clumsy attempts at writing!!!

The bed looks big enough to house an entire family, and Dean wonders if he’ll be the first one to warm it again after the prince’s former wife left for the Southlands. The comforter is soft to the touch, luxurious in its opulence, so different from the smelly, stiff sheets on his bed back at the tavern.

Well, his former bed.

Dean’s married to a prince now.

The first time he crossed looks with Castiel, he was fourteen and Castiel was a proper adult, and he was getting married to another person. The castle was buzzing with chaos and activity, servants running everywhere to appease the Queen and offer her youngest son a wedding he wouldn’t forget. Ellen and Jo had roped him into baking a few pies for the ceremony, even though he didn't work at the castle; it was the least he could do for the woman who had taken him in and his adopted little sister

(And if he stole a bite or two in the process, no one had to know!)

Jo asked him to get more basil from the garden, swatting him on the ass with a kitchen cloth, her loud laugh drowned out by the cooks’ frantic conversations. Annoyed, and mumbling about ungrateful little sisters, Dean grabbed his basket and took the backdoor leading to the garden, only to discover someone crouching between the huge watermelons and some bushes.

There, crouching on the dirt and looking nervous as hell, lingered His Highness. His mop of messy, dark hair was unmistakable.

“Hi?”

“Oh. Hello!” Dean saw the dark mop of hair shuffle until the man stood up, tall and stiff. It was, in fact, His Royal Highness, in all his awkward glory and dressed to the nines. “What brings you here?”

“I’m helping the cooks,” Dean said, slowly, not knowing if he was doing a good job of addressing an actual _prince_ properly. “For your wedding, my lord.”

“Right. My wedding,” the prince repeated, his tone landing somewhere between awkward and terrified.

“Pardon my boldness, my lord, but you don’t sound too happy about getting married,” Dean said, like a fool. His father used to say that his big mouth was going to get him in trouble one day.

“I don’t?” Prince Castiel tilted his head in obvious doubt, looking even more ruffled, and not at all princely, as he was still surrounded by juicy watermelons. (Dean was getting distracted).

A beat of awkward silence followed until the prince spoke again. “I am. Happy. Lady Kline is a lovely woman and we’ve been friends for a long time. It’s just—I’m…”

“Nervous?” Dean tried, chuckling when the prince frantically nodded his response. “It’s okay to be nervous. I always laugh at the stories my uncle and aunt tell me about my parents’ marriage. They were nervous, too,” Dean smiled wistfully. “They are long gone now, but I still remember how much they loved each other.”

Prince Castiel’s face softened with the fondness of someone who was, indeed, very in love, and for a moment, Dean felt a stab of jealousy for the future princess. Dean always found the prince to be handsome and sweet.

Too bad he was, literally, out of Dean’s reach.

Still, the least he could do was to be kind to him.

“My lord,” Dean said as he walked up to him. Hesitantly, he held Castiel’s hands in his own, heart beating too fast. “You just need to look at her eyes and hold her like this.”

“Like this?”

“Yes,” Dean smiled, letting go of the prince’s hands. The prince smiled back at him, blue eyes gentle with gratefulness.

“Thank you…”

“Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Thank you, Dean Winchester.”

*

Dean lays back on the bed, resting his weight on his elbows, trying to look as sultry as he can, and adjusts the colorful dressing gown that the maid left for him, slipping one of the sleeves down his shoulder and revealing one perky nipple, hoping it was enough to show Castiel that—despite his nervousness during the wedding, and the fact that their marriage came from an arrangement— he truly wants to be with him. Castiel is—he was married and unavailable once, but before _that _, he was royal and elegant and too beautiful to even consider looking Dean’s way. And now, they had kissed at the altar in front of Castiel’s entire pompous (and royal) family, and Castiel had slipped a ring on Dean’s finger like a promise and gifted him with vows made from gentle blue eyes and kind hands.__

__When the bedroom door opens, Dean perks up immediately, trying his best to appear less nervous and more inviting, but he immediately goes flustered at the sight of a rumpled Castiel, tight pants and unlaced shirt, messy dark hair that looks silky to the touch._ _

__“Hi,” is the ridiculous, strangled noise that comes out of Dean’s clumsy, good-for-nothing mouth. “I’ve been waiting for you.”_ _

__“Um. Right,” Castiel shuffles awkwardly in front of him. “I came to say good night.”_ _

___Wait. What?_ _ _

__“Good night?”_ _

__“This will be your room. Mine is across the hallway,” Castiel explains, unworried. “I hope that everything is to your liking, and if you need or want to change anything, all you need is ask and it will be done.”_ _

__Dean blinks again, confused. “Thank you?”_ _

__“Breakfast is at seven,” Castiel continues. “And then I’ll give you time to get to know my children better.”_ _

__Castiel stands several feet away from him, his hand on the doorknob like he can’t wait to leave the room and go to his own bed. Slowly, disappointment creeps up around Dean’s heart, making him feel ridiculous. He tries to subtly rearrange his dressing gown, trying to cover himself up, cheeks hot with shame._ _

__“Thank you,” he says again because Castiel doesn’t seem to expect any other kind of answer. His husband nods and utters a soft “good night, Dean” before leaving and closing the door._ _

__Dean’s first night as a married man is cold and lonely, and nothing like he expected._ _

__

____

*

There’s something about mornings at the castle when the grass and the flowers are wet, and the mist is so thick Dean can’t see beyond the evergreen trees surrounding the lake. Everything is so quiet, in a way that his old home never was, always bustling with activity, Jo and Sam chasing each other and Dean sleepily dragging himself to the pantry, ready to start baking.

Now, the stone halls are barely alight with the soft morning light, and not even the cook is awake yet, so Dean putters around the kitchen as quietly as he can, running a list of ingredients in his mind. It’ll be a couple of hours before he needs to drag the children out of bed, but since moving into the castle, every morning has started early for Dean. The excitement was the first thing that used to get him out of bed, the first days when he thought that he and Castiel could grow to love each other… Now, mostly, it’s the homesickness and the longing that strikes him whenever he doesn’t get a new letter from Sam and Charlie or when he misses Jo coming around for an errand.

He grew lonely soon, feeling so far away from the husband who won’t look at him or touch him. But the children are a completely different story, and that’s why Dean sticks to his early mornings, still.

“What are you doing?” Claire’s sleepy voice, followed by a yawn, interrupts him.

“Heh,” Dean snickers, looking at Claire’s grumpy face and her rumpled hair and clothes. “Did you fall out of bed?”

“You aren’t funny,” Claire pouts, but she gets closer to the table, where Dean has been kneading fresh dough.

“I’ve been told that before.” Dean smiles, bumping his shoulder with hers, watching as Claire stops huffing and starts to smile. She looks so much like Cas.

“What are you doing?” she asks again, tilting her head a little bit to the side, like a small bird, and that’s where Dean sees it: the pieces of Cas that he’s fallen in love with, carefully woven in Claire’s young face, as if they both came out of the womb as grumpy, not-morning-people.

Dean can’t help but smile, whenever he thinks about it, how Jack and Claire make his chest go tight with longing and affection, too.

He pats the dough, humming, trying to be mysterious just to spike Claire’s curiosity. “You ever baked pie?”

“No,” she frowns like she’s just realizing she’s been missing out. “I’m not allowed in the kitchen.”

“Too royal for cooking?”

“Too _messy_ for cooking,” Claire snorts.

“Well,” Dean grabs a rolling pin and puts it in her hands. “Do you feel like making a mess right now?”

Claire’s eyes go wide, like a cat spotting a particularly shiny prey.

*

Castiel’s divorce caused quite the stir.

He remained friends with his former wife, and gave her a sizable castle in the Southlands, completely staffed, knowing that she’d be a good lady to the people who lived there. Many people talk about how, as soon as Lady Kelly moved out of the royal home and finally had time and space to pursue the things she loved, she went from being a quiet, shy presence, to a very happy and animated woman. The children visit her every summer, and she writes to them every month.

She's happy.

However, as soon as Castiel let her go, he was pressured to marry again, his mother insistent on the children needing a steady presence, someone who could balance Castiel’s absence when he was busy fulfilling his princely duties.

Caving to the need of an arranged marriage, but not wanting to end up with someone chosen by his mother once more, Castiel put the word out that he needed a new spouse, a partner willing to take care of and love his children.

Dean was the only commoner who showed up, the Winchester title long lost to his dead father’s gambling debts, his younger brother spirited away to higher education in another country, with only a few years of kitchen work under his (admittedly, very unimpressive) belt.

He still doesn’t know why Castiel picked him. At first, Dean thought that maybe the prince had been drawn to the way he looked, but once he ignored Dean on their wedding night, he quickly discarded that idea. It couldn’t be. Castiel didn’t care about Dean that way.

Months of being married, and they barely see each other. Castiel, too busy answering the call of duty while Dean takes care of his children.

Their children.

Claire is outspoken and bold, confident, and braver than any man Dean has met. Jack, younger and sweeter, is curious and full of questions, with an uncanny ability to perceive people’s feelings.

Dean’s known them for less than a year, but he loves them already. He’s spent more time with them than with his husband and so, he’s been able to get to know them better.

That’s why he’s so startled the first time he loses sight of them.

The day is bright and sunny, after a weekend ruined by heavy rain and moody clouds. Dean should have seen it coming, with both Claire and Jack bouncing around the castle and staring longingly at the gardens through foggy windows.

Dean looks for them, yelling their names everywhere, shying away from the judgy looks from some of the servants until he finds them playing near the strawberry fields.

“Hiya, dwarfs,” Dean puts his hands on his hips, trying to hold back a smile. “How about you ask me to go outside the next time before you sneak out of the castle, hm?”

“Sorry!” Claire says, not looking sorry at all. Jack giggles. That’s when Dean notices their pants and boots are covered in mud. Huh.

“Your maid is going to faint when she sees the state of your clothes,” Dean snickers. “You guys look like little mud monsters.”

Claire makes a “Rawr!” sound while Dean is busy making fun of her, and she launches herself at him, hugging his leg and covering him in mud in the process. Surprised, Dean loses his balance and falls on his ass, splashing mud everywhere to the delight of Jack, who also bounces on Dean in a fit of giggles. They roll around like happy pigs, laughing and trying to catch each other until Dean hears a familiar voice calling his name.

Their laughter abruptly dies when they spot Cas standing a few feet away from the puddle, arms crossed and looking disgruntled, his frowny face doing frowny things. Claire immediately yelps and hides behind Dean, Jack following her.

Okay, then. Looks like it’s up to Dean to provide explanations. To which Dean obviously says,

“I swear I can explain.”

Castiel arches one severe, perfect eyebrow.

“Were you three having fun?” Castiel asks but doesn’t wait for Dean to answer. “Never mind. You should go inside and clean up before someone sees you like this.”

Dean huffs. “It’s just mud.”

“It’s _unbecoming_.”

_Your face is unbecoming_ , Dean thinks, withholding a pout. “You’re being boring.”

“Being boring is kind of my job,” Castiel argues back, but there’s something soft in the corners of his lips, and Dean clings to that.

“Well, you should take a break,” Dean tries, turning to exchange a grin with Claire. She immediately gets the message. “ _Maybe_ you should join us.”

Castiel frowns again. “I don’t think I can—” but before he finishes speaking, Claire throws mud at his white, crisp shirt, Castiel’s eyes widening with surprise as if he should’ve seen that coming. Dean laughs, loud and delighted until Jack is leaving his side to pull at his father’s pants, trying to drag him to their pig party, which results in Castiel tripping near Dean and looking grumpy.

The children laugh louder, patting his white shirt with dirty hands until it turns brown, and Castiel soon stops fuming and starts smiling, looking younger than ever.

*

Fall sneaks upon the castle as a blanket of reds and browns and Dean can’t help but share his enthusiasm with Claire and Jack: he can’t wait for the pumpkin patch grow and he’s been helping the gardener as the children watch curiously, dying to eat the pumpkin pie Dean has promised to bake for them.

It’s exciting for them, to watch things grow, and, in turn, it’s exciting for him to watch them _grow up_.

But as much as Dean appreciates Claire and Jack’s company and the constant stream of chatter that they usually offer, he also loves the quiet moments that he reserves for himself, too. The gardens are full of life and color, even in the dark of the night, and Dean loves to sit between the flowers and look at the stars, wondering if this is all he’s going to get, if this is the pinnacle of his happiness, if this life and _his_ children are enough to chase the loneliness away.

This time, Dean remembers being a teenager and boldly touching the prince’s hands, staring at his face and wondering how it would feel, to be touched by someone so beautiful and so kind, and he aches for the silly, enamored kid that he used to be.

“You seem thoughtful,” Castiel’s gravelly voice rumbles behind him. Dean turns to look at him, not moving from his seated position on the grass.

“You aren’t going to tell me that my head is going to hurt from thinking too much?”

Castiel lets out a very unprincely snort, then, to Dean’s surprise, sits next to him on the grass, and scrunches his nose at how cold it is. “I don’t think that’s necessary; you always seem lost in thought.”

Dean shrugs. “Fair. I do tend to overthink things.”

“What are you doing out here? It’s late. You should be in bed.”

Dean considers telling him how lonely his room feels and how his bed is too big and too cold for him, but he’s a coward and he hates how needy he sounds inside his own head. So, he shrugs and chooses to lie. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

“I saw you through the window and thought it would be a good chance to talk to you alone,” Castiel says, turning earnest eyes on him. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?” Dean asks.

“Jack and Claire… they have everything they could ever need and yet, for a while, they weren’t happy,” Cas explains, shoulders slumped. He looks tired. “Their mother wasn’t happy either. I’m aware of the amount of privilege and riches that we do possess, but this sort of life… it’s stifling. My mother says that duty comes before happiness, but…”

“You want them to be happy,” Dean concludes for him. He hates how defeated Castiel looks and he reaches for his hand on impulse, unable to stand the idea of his prince beating himself up, wanting to offer comfort.

“They know how loved they are, Cas,” Dean says, his cheek turning red with the liberty he’s just taken. Castiel doesn’t seem to mind the sudden nickname, but Dean’s still embarrassed. “I know they have a future role to fulfill and proper royal duties, but… they’re children, and I want them to be children for as long as they can. I care about them.”

_I love them_ , Dean doesn’t say, even when his heart rests in their tiny hands. But still, Castiel seems to get it, and the smile he gives Dean in response is almost blinding.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, leaning a little closer. He hasn’t let go of Dean’s hand. “I’d be lost without you.”

Later, when he goes to bed, Dean thinks about how nice it feels to be truly needed.

*

Ten months into their marriage, Cas throws a feast for the entire castle, a tradition he stubbornly continues to hold despite his mother’s protests, and that exists to thank the people working at the castle for their service. Dean’s been told that it’s always a huge event that everyone enjoys, where ridiculous amounts of wine and meat are usually consumed.

Dean, of course, proves those comments to be right by imbibing copious amounts of alcohol. By midnight, he’s pleasantly buzzed, cheeks flushed with alcohol, laughing and smiling (but never dancing, he still has some sense of self-preservation), obnoxiously encouraging Cas to drink more, refilling his cup and telling him to relax. By the look of it, he’s done a good job: Cas’ fluffy hair is messy, he looks pleasantly tipsy and he’s been smiling most of the night. When he starts feeling sleepy, he asks Dean to walk him to his room. They say their goodnights in front of Cas’ door, just like any other night.

But Dean, emboldened by alcohol and affection, cradles Cas’ face between his hands and softly kisses him on the lips.

More kisses follow the first one, open-mouthed and sweet, clumsy with alcohol. They kiss and kiss until Cas opens the door and pulls Dean inside the room with him, then gently guides him to the bed. Dean lays down on it, flat on his back, with Cas on top of him, a thick thigh nudging his legs apart. He lets his husband unlace his pants and kick off his clothes, lets him do whatever he wants to him.

Cas reaches for the oil on his bedside table and then he’s wrapping his fingers around Dean’s erection, hot lips pressed to Dean’s pulse point on his neck as he throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. Cas hums, gravelly and deep, thumbing at the slit of Dean’s cock, drawing filthy moans out of him, stroking Dean from base to tip, spreading the wetness around the head until Dean is begging for _more_. Cas shuffles closer to him, pants off and just as naked as him, then wraps them both in his hand, making a tunnel with his fist and panting into Dean’s hair, planting messy kisses to Dean’s jaw, until he’s coming in soft waves, body going boneless on the mattress.

The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is Cas pulling the comforter on top of them, and the gentleness of his lips on Dean’s sweaty temple.

*

The first rays of sunlight coax Dean out of sleep, a pounding headache making itself known in the back of his brain, probably punishing him for the excesses of last night. He groans, sitting up on the bed and trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, then stretching like a cat. He smiles, remembering how good it felt to be _that_ close to Cas the previous night, until he turns to see the other side of the bed and discovers that it’s empty.

A familiar sense of disappointment starts to choke him, the same from his lonely wedding night, and he picks up his clothes from the floor, angrily getting dressed before he abandons Cas’ room. He hopes to see him at breakfast but once Dean goes to the dining room, Cas isn’t at the table. He’s nowhere to be found.

This time, Dean’s _angry_. Anger is easier than sadness and disappointment, it’s lighter to bear. It’s less consuming. Less painful.

Somehow, feeling abandoned hurts more than feeling rejected.

He puts on a good face in front of the children, but it’s tiring to pretend that you’re happy when you were truly _happy_ just twelve hours before.

Cas avoids having dinner with them too and by then, Dean’s had enough. He marches into Cas’ office, uncaring of people seeing him fume, and closes the door behind him with a slam. The childish gesture serves its purpose: when he looks up, Cas is staring at Dean from behind his desk, frowning.

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“I can’t,” Cas grabs a plume very pointedly, signaling a pile of documents with it. “I’m busy.”

“You’ve been busy all day.”

“It comes with the title.”

“Did you even _eat_?”

“You don’t need to be concerned with that.”

“God, you infuriating, stubborn man!” Dean lets out, in a fit of frustration, finally getting Cas to properly pay attention to him. “I just want to know _why_?”

“Why?” Cas repeats, truly looking clueless. Dean’s eyes sting with the unfamiliar need to cry.

“I thought we…” Dean swallows. “Why did you leave before I woke up? Why have you been avoiding me all day?”

“Dean…”

“Why did you pick me, Castiel, if you don’t even _like_ me?” Dean’s not above begging at this point, tired of the lonely nights and of wanting things that he can’t have.

“I think…” Cas starts, then appears to stop himself. The frown marring his face softens, and he abandons his chair to walk up to Dean and guide him into the loveseat in the corner of the room, with a hand on Dean’s lower back.

Cas sits down right next to him, sighing deeply before speaking and looking nervous. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

Cas laughs, but it’s self-deprecating. “I’m a fool.”

“I don’t think I follow.”

“Dean, I was angry.” Dean flinches, but Cas grabs his wrist, pulling him closer to him. “Let me finish. I was angry at _myself_ for what I thought to be a terrible lack of control. I felt like I had imposed myself on you.”

“You could never do that to me,” Dean says, heart beating faster. He doesn’t dare to hope, not yet, but he can’t help it. He just _wants_. “I spent the entire day thinking you regretted what we did.”

“I could never.” Cas smiles, raising a hand to touch Dean’s cheek, softly thumbing at his cheekbone. “I saw myself as a drunk who took advantage of you, but now I know that things were different. I should have stayed and talked to you.”

“Do you mean it, then?” Dean asks, suddenly brave, “Do you _want_ me?”

“I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you, Dean,” Cas says, eyes earnestly sincere, and Dean launches himself at himself, straddling his lap to kiss him senseless, until their lips are swollen and red and the air between them grows short. He nuzzles his cheek against Cas’, content to finally express his affection for him, dizzy with the exuberant energy that comes with love.

“What made you think that I didn’t like you?” Cas asks, arms tight around Dean’s waist.

“You didn’t want me on our wedding night.”

“You were nervous!”

“I was nervous because I wanted you so much,” Dean explains, pressing a small kiss against Cas’ cheek. “Not because I was scared.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says, mournful, “I’m sorry I ever let you feel that way. I promise it’s never going to happen again.”

Dean beams, brushing a couple of rebellious hair strands from his husband’s forehead. “I believe you.”

“I don’t think you understand how wonderful you are, Dean,” Cas smiles at him. It’s a real smile, one that shows that Cas isn’t holding back anymore, less reserved and more indulgent. “You’ve changed our lives for the better. I see the way you are with Claire and Jack and I’m so _grateful_. They’re allowed to be children when they are with you, and that’s a gift that I wasn’t granted as a child.”

“I just…” Dean’s voice breaks. “I love them, Cas.”

“And they love you, too. They’re my children, I know them better than myself,” Cas laughs. “You make them happy. You _make_ me happy.”

“I’m glad that you picked me,” Dean grins, feeling happy enough to shout it from the highest tower in the castle. “I’m-- I’m happy. That we’re a family. That’s all I ever wanted.”

In a moment, Claire and Jack will knock on the closed door, whining and complaining about being bored, hoping to draw Dean out of the room and convince him into going outside for a nice picnic, delighted and surprised when Cas joins them.

But for now, Dean’s content to hold and kiss Cas, finally knowing that he’s truly, completely happy.

Good things, after all, do happen.

**Author's Note:**

> You can yell at me [here](https://twitter.com/foldingcranes).


End file.
